Org. Wisdom, look ye,

Begins to rave!-art thou mad too, antiquity? Pen. Since I was first a wife, I might have been Mother to many pretty prattling babes;

They would have smiled when I smiled; and, for certain,

I should have cried when they cried :-truly, bro

ther,

My father would have pick'd me out a husband,
And then my little ones had been no bastards;
But 'tis too late for me to marry now,
I am past child-bearing; 'tis not my fault.

Bass. Fall on me, if there be a burning Ætna, And bury me in flames! sweats, hot as sulphur, Boil through my pores:-affliction hath in store No torture like to this.

Org. Behold a patience!

Lay by thy whining gray dissimulation,'
Do something worth a chronicle; show justice
Upon the author of this mischief; dig out
The jealousies that hatch'd this thraldom first
With thine own poniard: every antick rapture
Can roar as thine does.

Lay by thy whining gray dissimulation.] This beautiful expression is happily adopted by Milton, the great plunderer of the poetical hive of our old dramatists.

66

He ended here, and Satan, bowing low
His gray dissimulation," &c.

Par. Reg.

It would appear from the next speech, that the unsuspicious Ithocles supposed Orgilus to address Bassanes, in this rant, in order to incite him to wreak vengeance on himself for his cruelty to Penthea; but the covert object of it is evidently Ithocles.

Ith. Orgilus, forbear.

Bass. Disturb him not; it is a talking motion

Provided for my torment.

To bawdy passion! ere I'll speak a word,

I will look on and burst.

Pen. I loved you once.

What a fool am I

[TO ORG.

Org. Thou didst, wrong'd creature: in despite

of malice,

For it I'll love thee ever.

Pen. Spare your hand;

Believe me, I'll not hurt it.
Org. My heart too.'

Pen. Complain not though I wring it hard:
I'll kiss it;

Oh, 'tis a fine soft palm !—hark, in thine ear; Like whom do I look, prithee ?-nay, no whis

pering.

Goodness! we had been happy; too much hap

piness

Will make folk proud, they say--but that is he [Pointing to ITHOCLES.

And yet he paid for't home; alas! his heart

Is crept into the cabinet of the princess;
We shall have points and bride-laces. Remember,
When we last gather'd roses in the garden,

Org. My heart too.] Here is some mistake of the press, which I cannot pretend to rectify. The 4to reads—

Org. Paine my heart to
Complain not, &c.

I have little doubt that a line has been dropt, containing the conclusion of Orgilus' speech, and the commencement of Penthea's, whose name does not appear in the text. My arrangement pretends to nothing more than rendering the passage intelligible.

I found my wits; but truly you lost yours.

That's he, and still 'tis he. [Again pointing to ITH.

Ith. Poor soul, how idly

Her fancies guide her tongue!
Bass. Keep in, vexation,
And break not into clamour.

Org. She has tutor'd me ;*

2

[Aside.

Some powerful inspiration checks my laziness

Now let me kiss your hand, griev'd beauty.

Pen. Kiss it.—

Alack, alack, his lips be wonderous cold;
Dear soul, he has lost his colour: have you seen
A straying heart? all crannies! every drop
Of blood is turned to an amethyst,
Which married bachelors hang in their ears.
Org. Peace usher her into Elysium!

If this be madness, madness is an oracle. [Exit.
Ith. Christalla, Philema, when slept my sister,
Her ravings are so wild?

Chris. Sir, not these ten days.

Phil. We watch by her continually; besides, We can not any way pray her to eat. Bass. Oh,―misery of miseries!

Pen. Take comfort,

You may live well, and die a good old man :
By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken,

If

you had join'd our hands once in the temple,

2 She has tutor'd me.] i. e. by repeatedly pointing out Ithocles to his resentment. What plan of vengeance Orgilus had previously meditated, we know not; but the deep and irresistible pathos of this most afflicting scene evidently gives a deadly turn to his wrath.

('Twas since my father died, for had he lived

He would have done't,) I must have called you father.

Oh, my wreck'd honour ruin'd by those tyrants,
A cruel brother, and a desperate dotage.

There is no peace left for a ravish'd wife
Widow'd by lawless marriage; to all memory,
Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted:
But since her blood was season'd by the forfeit
Of noble shame, with mixtures of pollution,
Her blood-'tis just-be henceforth never height-
en'd

With taste of sustenance! starve; let that ful

ness

Whose pleurisy hath fever'd faith and modestyForgive me; Oh! I faint.

[Falls into the arms of her attendants.

Arm. Be not so wilful,

Sweet niece, to work thine own destruction.

Ith. Nature

Will call her daughter, monster!-what! not eat? Refuse the only ordinary means

Which are ordain'd for life? be not, my sister,

3 Oh, my wreck'd honour, &c.] The transition of Penthea from the wandering insanity which had marked the previous part of her discourse, to the deep but composed melancholy of what follows, is, surely, too sudden; and may seem to throw some suspicion on the reality-not of her sufferings and despair, for these are too strongly marked for doubt-but, of her aberration of mind: and, indeed, it cannot be concealed that this lovely and interesting woman has a spice of selfishness in her grief; and approaches somewhat too nearly to Orgilus in the unforgiving part of his character. Even her last words are expressive of resentment.

Ꮓ

A murtheress to thyself.-Hear'st thou this, Bas

sanes?

Bass. Foh! I am busy; for I have not thoughts Enough to think: all shall be well anon.

'Tis tumbling in my head; there is a mastery
In art, to fatten and keep smooth the outside;
Yes, and to comfort up the vital spirits
Without the help of food, fumes or perfumes,―
Perfumes or fumes. Let her alone; I'll search out
The trick on't.

[Aside. Pen. Lead me gently; heavens reward ye. Griefs are sure friends; they leave, without con

troul,

Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul.

[Exit, supported by CHRIS. and PHIL.

Bass. I grant ye; and will put in practice in

stantly

What you shall still admire: 'tis wonderful,

'Tis super-singular, not to be match'd ;

Yet, when I've done't, I've done't:-ye shall all

thank me.

Arm. The sight is full of terror.

Ith. On my soul

Lies such an infinite clog of massy dulness,
As that I have not sense enough to feel it.-
See, uncle, the angry thing returns again,
Shall's welcome him with thunder? we
haunted,

And must use exorcism to conjure down
This spirit of malevolence.

[Exit.

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